The Best People
by Zellarest
Summary: Harry engages Hermione in a not-so-fair tickle fight after a remark about him and a flower. They're howling mad, Harry thinks. But, then again, the best people are. / Underlying hints of Harry/Hermione, and is a bit fluffy.


For Ash's Monthly Competitions!

Words: 729

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Steam swirls upwards in coils of dancing grey, dissipating as it makes the stretch to the ceiling. Oodles of noodles sit lamely at the bottom of the bittersweet yellow pot. With a careful hand they are mixed around in the bubbling water, dull thuds resulting from the wooden spoon knocking against the sides.

The smell that permeates the air thoroughly assaults his nostrils and causes his eyes to lower slightly from the warmth that spreads immediately to his very bones. Hermione, with the signature mane of curls subdued in a so obviously half-hearted bun settled on the nape of her neck, stands idle at the stove. Her eyes hardly waver from the stove, occasionally blinking slowly, almost softly as though she is the tiniest bit drowsy. A beige sweater is draped across her shoulders and the sleeves are so that only her fingers peek above the finely knitted hem.

Only someone with enough warmth in their heart to give heat to those coldest could knit a sweater like such. Harry knows this, with utmost certainty, to be Mrs Weasley.

Hermione perks up at the sound of his approaching footsteps, smiles with undiluted happiness at his arrival, and turns to him with abruptly energized and brown eyes. They hold a distinct fondness that never failed to make him even fuzzier inside than he already was.

With genuine interest Harry asks, "What are you making?"

She tucks a rogue curl behind her ear, glancing down at the bubbling pot with uncertainty. "I'm trying to make those noodles Ron always talks about." Her smile is quickly replaced with a confused jut of her lower lip. "But now I'm thinking I was better off using magic from the start, or even just having it delivered."

The pout on his face is almost a mirror image of her own. "D'you want some help? I'm no good with household charms, but I'm sure I could do something."

"Oh no, it's all right. I'll probably end up having something delivered again." She sighs and reaches up a hand to brush back some stray strands of hair from his forehead. "You're so tall. I almost forgot how much you've grown."

"You sound like Mrs Weasley," he mumbles uncomfortably.

She smiles. "Remember in third year, when I was taller than you?" The smile grows wider. "Or first and second, for that matter."

"Hey, that's not fair. I was a late bloomer!"

"That makes you sound like a flower!" A bubbly laugh escaps her lips. "Harry Potter, the flower."

A most unflattering tinge of scarlet stains his cheeks. "Oh, you're going to get it now Granger."

She squeals as his hands dive for her sides. "No!"

The grin that breaks across his face is almost devillish. "You asked for it!" Giggles erupt from her lips, unhindered by any means to halt them.

Her breath hitches and screams of laughter echo in the largely empty house. Fruitless attempts at fighting off Harry's tickling assault only garners more aggression. "I-I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry!"

A goofy grin settles on his face. "What? I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying." A pink flush tints her cheeks and ears, crawling rapidly up her neck.

Breath escapes her in weak puff, strained and brief. "I'm s-sorry, I'm sor-sorry I ca-called you a f-flower!"

He gives a breathy laugh. "That's more like it."

As soon as it had begun, it stops. Harry withdraws his hands from her sides and leans back on his palms. The broad grin has not left his lips. Hermione lies limply on the tile, breathing heavily and gripping her sides. The pink flush has turned to harsh crimson. Her eyes are loosely focused on the ceiling.

"If you're all right, I think we should check on the noodles before things get out of hand."

"I think things have already gotten out of hand."

And, with a cheeky grin across her face, she winks. It took Harry a few seconds to register the meaning of this, but even then Hermione laughs and he finds himself laughing with her. The action is effortless, and before he is aware they're both clutching their sides and throwing their heads back. As soon as it dies down, he offers a hand and hefts Hermione to her feet. They're howling mad, Harry thinks as they both share a fleeting look.

But, then again, the best people are.


End file.
